


Pressure

by flyingisland



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Body Worship, Bondage, Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic Consent, Everyone/Izaya, Everyone/Shizuo, F/M, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Gentle Sex, Group Sex, Izuo - Freeform, Lingerie, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Pegging, Rough Sex, Shibari, Shizaya - Freeform, Stiletto Heels, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-15 16:29:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7230064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingisland/pseuds/flyingisland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shizuo and Izaya explore new avenues in their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Orihara Izaya Takes it Hard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frankypoisson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frankypoisson/gifts).



> For the always wonderful and so very, very lovely frankenfishen.

Shizuo sits before him on the bed, eyes hooded, cheeks hot with color. He’s drawing gentle fingers from Izaya’s calf to his thigh and back, so light that Izaya can barely feel it at all. He bites back a smile when Izaya twitches, achingly hard beneath the lace of his underwear.

Of course, Izaya doesn’t know any of this.

He can’t see a thing.

The silk of the blindfold obscuring his vision feels like nothing but a cloud of smoke against his skin. His shoulders cramp with tension, buckled tightly against the headboard with Shizuo’s stupid, expensive belt. He’d harassed him about it at the time— _ “What would your darling brother think if he knew that you were using it for such scandalous practices?” _

But Shizuo hadn’t said a word in reply.

He’d slipped the stockings up Izaya’s legs silently, pressed chapped lips against his wrists before tightening the belt. He’d dressed Izaya in an outfit that was alarmingly revealing—sheer stockings clipped to a garter belt, an airy, see-through top lined with lace. All whites, clinging to him in such perverse places that he’d wondered what sort of sick fantasies Shizuo had been hiding from him all of this time. Shizuo had been careful as he’d dressed him, as though he might break. He’d peppered him with kisses. He’d ghosted touches along his chest down to his hips, dipping lower and pressing apart his thighs, the roughness of his skin barely even there at all. 

Izaya spreads his legs a little wider, and he can hear Shizuo let out a sharp, shaky breath. He can feel those fingers prodding just a little harder into his skin. 

Just as Shizuo’s fingers seem as though they might reach forward, might pull the material straining his erection to the side and grant him some reprieve from his discomfort, he can hear the sound of the door clicking open. His muscles tense, thighs closing instinctually, but Shizuo keeps them parted. Izaya can feel him turning. He chokes out a comment, but it’s muddled through the rubber abomination currently shoved inside of his mouth.

_ “A gag?” _ he’d questioned, so indignant that he wasn’t even cautious enough to hide it,  _ “When have I ever expressed interest in being gagged?” _

Shizuo had fixed him with a firm look. He’d unbuckled the straps, leaned forward on the bed and pushed it between his lips.

_ “You’ll like it,”  _ he’d huffed matter-of-factly, definitely not in the mood to argue, definitely in the mood to hold Izaya down if he felt the need to,  _ “And maybe you won’t be so fucking loud this time.” _

Footsteps pad against the floor, the subtle sounds of breathing and the soft voices of multiple people filling the room. His skin heats with shame, despite how well he might be able to hide it if he weren’t incapable of moving much at all. He tries to piece together who might have joined them. When he’d suggested this idea to Shizuo, he’d reveled in the idea of the moron struggling to find anyone who would agree to it. 

But now, he wishes that he would have helped him—Or asked, at the very least, who Shizuo had found.

“As expected, he has no shame,” A woman spits, heels clacking against the hardwood as she draws closer, “Women’s clothing too… pervert.”

He raises his head toward her, attempting to smirk through the gag. He knows that she can feel his unspoken greeting hanging silently between them.

_ “Namie,” _ he would say,  _ “Should those in glass houses really throw stones?” _

She clicks her tongue, and he can hear her shoes swiveling against the floor as she turns toward the other inhabitants of the room. Something taps against the floor—heavy, maybe a suitcase, maybe a heavy purse. He can hear her unzipping it, rustling around inside.

“If anyone touches me,” she hisses, “I’ll kill you.”

And he wishes that he could speak. He knows that this is why Shizuo gagged him. If he could speak, if he could communicate at all, he would tell her,  _ “Ah, yes, you’re saving yourself for your brother, aren’t you?” _

Someone else is walking toward the bed. A man, he decides, noting the heaviness of their footfalls and the pace at which they amble through the room. 

“Is there a safe word?” His stomach drops at the sound of it. He knows it, but he doesn’t want to even think about who might be standing in front of him right now, seeing him with his legs spread wide in such ridiculous skimpy clothing, “Like something that we should be listening for in case he can’t handle it?”

Shizuo’s fingers dig into his skin as he attempts to close his legs again. A knee is pushed against one of his thighs, a hand coming to pat at his cheek like some sort of stupid animal. He grits his teeth against the gag, jerking his head away.

“You want a safe word, louse?” Shizuo asks, gripping loosely at his chin, “Then it’s gonna be  _ “flea” _ , okay? Don’t forget it.”

The other man—Izaya refuses to address him by name, absolutely despises Shizuo for even considering to ask him—shuffles awkwardly from foot to foot. He can hear his socks scuffing against the floor. It seems that he was polite enough to take his shoes off at the door, even if Namie was not. He wonders if the heels might be part of her place in this.

He’d already told Shizuo that he doesn’t like pain. He’s not particularly interested in being prodded or stepped on. He’s not licking anyone’s stilettos, no matter how demanding they might be.

He’s waiting for the last person to speak, but they don’t seem to be feeling very talkative. He can sense their presence looming in the threshold of the room. He can barely make out the sound of their breathing, their fingers drumming soft rhythms against the doorframe. 

“Wait,” Namie interjects suddenly, and he can feel the mattress shift as Shizuo turns toward her, “What’s that noise?”

His blood runs cold. Once again, he’s struggling to close his legs, but Shizuo is relentless. His movements only press the source of the noise—he knows that this is what she is referring to. There is no denying it, there is no universe that exists in which Namie would not be the first person to blurt out the one thing that he’d hoped to keep private—deeper inside of him. He swallows a moan, toes curling as his fingers grip desperately at the edges of the belt. 

Shizuo drags his free hand down Izaya’s chest. He tugs at the underwear, presses a thumb against the butt of the toy before moving it around. 

Namie clicks her tongue in disgust. He can feel it coming off of her in waves. If he weren’t in such a compromising situation, he might be feeling a little smug right now, knowing that he was able to rile her up so easily.

“It’s not very big,” Shizuo says, and Izaya wishes that his hands weren’t bound, if only so he could strangle him, “It’s not even on the highest setting.”

He pulls back the underwear, but now Izaya isn’t so sure if he wants him to. He can feel eyes on his skin, and despite his mortification, his cock twitches at the attention.

“He’s pretty into this,” the final voice speaks at last. Izaya doesn’t recognize it at all, “You know, I was a little worried about this whole thing—I thought maybe he’d regret it, but you like this, don’t you, Orihara-san?”

Izaya cranes his neck to send a fiery look in this stranger’s direction. He knows that it looks powerless, that maybe this man thinks that he’s embarrassed, but it makes him feel better anyway. 

It bothers him that Shizuo has friends that he doesn’t know about, friends whose voices he cannot easily recognize.

Maybe even more than it bothers him that Shizuo invited Kadota.

As though sensing that Izaya was thinking of him, he can feel Kadota moving forward, pressing questioning fingers against the gag.

“Are we going to take this off?”

Izaya nods despite himself. He wants to tell everyone to burn in Hell, to stop looking at him, to get this ridiculous thing started already and stop standing around doing nothing.

The gag is removed wordlessly, but before he can take advantage of his newfound freedom, there are lips smashing  against his own. He recognizes Shizuo easily, bites at him out of spite. There’s saliva dribbled down his chin, and before he can even demand that someone take care of it, Shizuo is dragging something soft across his face, cleaning it away.

There’s a mouth at his neck, nibbling lightly, not enough to feel as good as he wants to feel, not as much as he needs to forget about so many eyes burning holes in his skin or the vibrator buzzing deep inside of him. 

A different hand comes to rest against his underwear, rubbing smooth fabric over his erection. He bucks his hips, hates himself for it, but no words will leave his mouth. He can hear Namie coming forward, and he almost misses the sound of the stranger drawing nearer as well. 

There’s a third weight added to the bed, and within seconds, there’s a hand tugging at his nipples through the thin fabric of his top. He doesn’t remember the smell of this person, the sound of their breathing. He wishes that he could see them, could look into their eyes, if only so the light flickering in his mind might finally come fully to life.

He can’t worry about it for too long, because Kadota is nudging the underwear to the side. He’s gripping at Izaya’s erection, pumping torturously slow. Shizuo is suckling at his shoulder, surely leaving marks that he’ll scoff at tomorrow. He almost tells him to cut it out, but the stranger moves closer. He drags a tongue over the shell of Izaya’s ear.

“Is it alright if I kiss you, Orihara-san?” he questions, voice husky and slow. Izaya is taken aback by the arousal that he can feel building between them, “Or should we wait until the third date?”

He grits his teeth, forcing down another moan as Kadota’s thumb teases at the head of his penis. He isn’t sure what Namie’s doing. He tries to turn his focus in her direction, to figure out why she’s shuffling around so much and pulling so many things out of the bag that she’d set on the floor.

“S-Shizu-chan,” he breathes, noting the mouth pulling away from his skin, the quiet pop of it as Shizuo looks up in his direction, “P-please hit him.”

The stranger laughs, digs his fingers into Izaya’s jaw rougher than Shizuo had earlier. He forces Izaya’s face to turn toward him, pressing their lips together and letting out a shaky breath through his nose. The warmth of it runs over Izaya’s face. He closes his mouth tightly, refusing to let a questioning tongue enter. 

The man pulls back, laughs again.

“Heiwajima-san,” he says, clipped and needy, the mere sound of it swelling heat in Izaya’s lower belly, “He’s just as feisty as you said.”

Izaya is just about to show the both of them just how “feisty” he can be, even has a few choice words already picked out, when he feels Shizuo’s hands wandering upwards toward his trapped wrists. He stills, hoping for the freedom to punch the idiot himself, and Shizuo doesn’t disappoint.

He unties the belt. He prompts everyone to back away and give them some space. Izaya doesn’t even have a chance to rub the indentations on his skin before Shizuo is lifting him and pushing him face-first into the mattress, pinning his arms behind him and wrapping the belt back around his wrists again. 

He lifts himself onto his knees. His top pools around his shoulders, exposing the pathetic thread of underwear clinging too tightly in all of the wrong places and the vibrator buzzing inside of him. It’s whirring noisily, so aggressive in its movements that it slips out, if only a little, wiggling wildly in the air. He knows that everyone is looking at it.

Kadota breathes hard, bringing a knee to rest on the bed. He leans forward, and Izaya thinks for only a moment that maybe he’ll pull the stupid thing out of him. He can feel Shizuo brushing his hair out of his face, dragging a rough thumb over his lips. He can hear Namie moving closer.

Electricity jolts up his spine. He bites his lip so hard that it pulsates between his teeth, raw and swollen, surely already sprouting bruises that he’ll have to explain away to nosy clients for at least a week. Kadota pushes the toy further in, flipping the switch on the bottom all the way up the max.

“Do you remember what the safe word is?” he asks calmly, somehow unaffected by the disturbing scene playing out before him, “Can you tell me what it is?”

Izaya presses his face harder into the mattress, clenching his teeth and refusing to speak. As though he knows exactly what he’s thinking, that he won’t lower himself to taking petty commands from anyone, Kadota pushes the horrible thing further inside of him. It drags the most humiliating of noises from his throat.

“I’ll stop if you say the word,” Kadota asserts, putting more weight on the bed and moving the toy around inside of him, “But if you don’t say it, then I won’t know that you’ve had enough.”

He pulls the vibrator out only slightly, taking great care in each movement. It feels like an eternity for Izaya, sitting still, silencing so many noises that bubble up in his throat as the vibrations wrack through him. Shizuo is pressing a kiss to his temple, tugging at the edges of the belt to make sure that it’s not too tight. Or maybe he’s wondering if he should have tied it tighter. Maybe he’s considering whether or not Izaya can still escape.

He knows it, and maybe so does everyone else, but escaping, despite how desperately he wants to murder everyone in the room right now, is nowhere near the top of his to-do list.

“Izaya,” Kadota’s voice is demanding, gruff and low. His finger brushes Izaya’s skin as he pushes the toy inside again, “Say it.”

Izaya’s heart pounds in his ears, drums throughout his entire body as his skin crawls with pleasure and his erection rubs torturously against his belly. Shizuo is snaking an arm around him, pulling his face up so everyone can witness the color staining his cheeks. 

_ “F—” _

The vibrator rubs against a spot inside of him that has him seeing stars. His body rocks into it, his thighs clench and his fingers scrape against the material of the belt. He lets out a noise so strangled, so needy and desperate that he almost doesn’t recognize his own voice. It sounds as though someone has turned on a particularly raunchy porn video—with a girl faking cries so shrill that he wouldn’t have believed that anyone could feel so much pleasure until this very moment in time.

“F-flea!” it’s more of a groan than a word. It’s more of a garbled collection of noises which leave his throat higher-pitched than anything he has ever spoken before, but Kadota keeps his word. He pulls the toy out, and Izaya grimaces at the sound of it buzzing in the air behind him.

“It is pretty small.”

He thinks that he might die right here, hips jolting in the air as everyone looks on quietly. He can imagine Kadota inspecting the God-forsaken thing, noting the ridges, the rubbery edges. He imagines him turning it over in his hands, considering the way that Izaya’s body had accepted it with so little effort. 

“Are you sure that he’s going to be able to take all of this?”

He doesn’t want to know what  _ this  _ is. Whether it’s all of them together, whether it’s a sizable erection that he’s tugging out of his pants, Izaya is thankful for the blindfold. He doesn’t want to look at any of them just yet. 

Shizuo must have reassured him somehow without saying a word, because he can feel Kadota spreading his cheeks apart. His indigent squawk is muffled in the sheets. His erection twitches with need. His ridiculous outfit clings to the sweat on his skin, feeling rougher than it was when Shizuo had dressed him up just an hour ago. 

“So, uh,” Kadota sounds unsure, even as he’s palming Izaya’s ass, “Who is, uh… going first?”

The other man shuffles on the bed. He drags a hand against Izaya’s stomach, fingers brushing his midriff before teasing at the head of his erection.

“You’re already right there,” he breathes, and Izaya can feel it like flames licking against his skin, “He can go, can’t he, Heiwajima-san?”

Shizuo grunts, and Izaya knows that he’s getting impatient. He doesn’t seem to care  _ who _ goes, as long as someone does, and Izaya silently agrees. If they continue to sit around here just talking, nothing is going to get done. It’ll be time for work tomorrow before any of them figure this out. 

He’s hoisted up to his knees, hands under his arms as the stranger continues to assault him with feathery touches. He almost tells him off for it, almost demands that Shizuo actually hit him this time, but someone is pressing their erection against him.

_ Someone _ , as though he doesn’t know who it is. He still hasn’t quite forgiven Shizuo for that one. He still might consider making him sleep on the couch for a few days after all of this is over. 

He doesn’t have a lot of time to ponder this, however, because Kadota is easing his way inside, nudging the string of his underwear from its resting place to allow easier access. He’s too careful, just as romantic as Izaya would have imagined that he’d be in these situations, if he’d ever imagined it at all. 

He’s held awkwardly upright as Kadota wraps an arm around his hips. He can’t quite seem to find good balance on the mattress, and he wonders if this might be part of the plan. Making him feel uneasy might be one of Shizuo’s secret fetishes, he thinks. He might get off watching Izaya squirm.

Shizuo climbs off of the bed as the stranger moves closer. Kadota isn’t even all the way in before he pulls almost all of the way out. He’s pressing his mouth against Izaya’s shoulder, breathing hard. He’s pushing back in even slower than the first time.

Izaya lets out an unintelligible noise. He can barely comprehend the sound of Namie and Shizuo talking.  He can’t understand their words. There’s a hot mouth engulfing his erection, a slick tongue teasing at the head. His legs feel like jello beneath him. He leans back against Kadota, grips his hands so tightly in his bindings that his arms shake. 

Another weight is added to the bed. His knees feel weak against the sheets. He’s bouncing forward and back as Kadota’s thrust gain momentum. He’s arching his back, confused as to which direction he should lean—into a warm mouth enveloping him, or a thick hardness pushing deeper and deeper inside.

The new weight moves toward him, and before he can figure out who it is, someone is pulling roughly at his hair.

“After a perverted stunt like this,” Namie’s voice calls out above him, tugging his hair so aggressively that his roots itch against his scalp, “I don’t want to hear anything from you for a long time.”

He has the perfect comeback right on the tip of his tongue. He might even be able to deliver it, regardless of how overwhelming the pleasure assaulting both sides of him might be. However, he doesn’t get the chance. He opens his mouth to speak, crafting his expression into one of smugness, one of a person not currently in the midst of maddening, overbearing ecstasy. But there’s something pushed inside before a noise can leave him. It feels like an erection, and he doesn’t understand. 

The wires of his brain fizzle with the effort of piecing together what is happening. There’s Namie above him, badgering him. There’s a penis shoving its way into the back of his throat. There’s Shizuo somewhere off to the side, warning her to be gentle. 

Kadota is behind him, he knows. The stranger is accounted for. Shizuo is accounted for…

The taste clues him in after moments pass. It’s not the saltiness of skin or the bite of precum. It’s rubber, smoother than the real thing, harder in places where Shizuo has always remained soft. He wants to chide her for using toys on him, for not shoving her skin against him like everyone else, because he understands why. 

He knows her complexes, and now maybe she knows his. He reminds himself to add another few days to Shizuo’s couch sentence. 

A gag stops Namie, and he knows that it’s only because Shizuo is watching. He wonders what the brute might be up to right now—is he keeping an eye on everyone, standing in the corner of the room with crossed arms and that usual scowl? Is he touching himself? He is seething with jealousy?

The mere thought of it coils a heat deep inside of him. The white hot fingers of his orgasm inch forward, so tempting to cum now and disregard the entire thing, so eager to finish this part and see what else Shizuo has planned.

Namie pushes back inside. He’s thrusting forward and back, taking her down his throat. He doesn’t know why he’s tolerating this, or why the idea had occurred to him in the first place—to organize this entire thing and to consider asking Shizuo if he would be interested in it too. And why had Shizuo agreed? Secretly, somewhere deep down inside of him, did Shizuo fantasize about these sorts of things as well?

He’s so close to cumming, allowing the awful noises to tumble out of him with no regard for how much he’ll regret it in the morning. Just as he’s letting out a final moan, a cry for release and edging so close to finishing—

“Stop.”

Everything halts immediately. He falls backward into Kadota, despising the whine that eases from his lips before he can even find the will to stop it. The mouth around him leaves just as Kadota is pulling out, just as Namie hesitates before tugging the strap-on from his mouth. 

His breathing is ragged. He can barely hold himself steady. Kadota is leaning him back, laying him out on the bed. He’s moving away, just as the stranger steps to the floor. He can’t do anything but sit still for the longest time. His arms are falling asleep underneath him. His erection stabs out into the air, begging for someone to take pity on him and touch him again. 

Namie moves back as well. Her heels tap against the floor, crisp in the overbearing silence. There’s a lot of shuffling around him, a quiet buzzing which sends tendrils of excitement along his skin. He’s calming his breathing, watching the blackness of the world around him within the blindfold. He’s waiting for someone to make their next move. 

“It’s your turn,” Shizuo says, and it’s more of an order than anything. Izaya’s cock twitches at the tone of his voice, the authority which he holds now that Izaya has never witnessed before. 

He’s unsure of who Shizuo is referring to, however, and his body trembles with anticipation. The last remnants of reason within his muddled thoughts chide him for giving in so easily. One of Ikebukuro’s strongest, the feared informant, Orihara Izaya, folding in on himself and spreading himself out for a group of nobodies—for a monster, for an evil, vindictive woman, for a miscreant gang member posing as a hero, and a man who he still doesn’t recognize, but oh, Izaya is sure that he’s also a loser, just like the rest.

Those bitter thoughts are quelled only by the sensation of fingers digging into the sensitive flesh of his open thighs, pushing them wider apart and surely peering down at the throbbing, weeping mess between his legs. He notes the sharp nails, the thin fingers. These are not the hands of a man, and the voice that barks down at him is definitely the snide, unforgiving tone of his secretary.

“You’re going to let a woman best you like this?” she spits, really, truly spits the words at him as saliva speckles against his belly and legs and a hand drops down to spread his cheeks, “You’re more depraved that I thought.”

There is no further warning before she pushes the strap-on into him. He bites the inside of his cheek to thwart the desperate plea that bubbles up. He hears Shizuo tell her to be more gentle. He’s pissy, Izaya can tell. 

_ ‘Because I don’t like pain. I told him that.’ _

His thoughts are not allowed to venture into more romantic territories—contemplating how many things Shizuo might have actually taken note of, wondering how closely he’s being watched, being studied for any hint of discomfort that Shizuo knows that he won’t enjoy. He’s jostled from those musings by a particularly hard thrust. Namie pauses when Shizuo repeats his order. She tells him that surely, any man who is sleeping with a monster is used to this sort of pain.

And Izaya kicks her.

It’s a blind assault, but his heel catches the leather buckles around her waist. She digs her nails harder into his skin, pushing so far inside that he wonders if she’s trying to skewer him.

It wracks a delicious sort of ache along his spine. The hair on his arms stands on end, mouth agape, muscles tingling with exhaustion and need. He wraps his legs around her, silently begging for more.

“See,” she hums, “He’s a pervert. He likes this sort of thing.”

Weight is added to the mattress again. A hand is threading through his hair. He leans into the touch, gritting his teeth as Namie pounds inside of him harder and harder, so roughly that the headboard clatters noisily against the wall. 

Oh well, he thinks. Their neighbors hate them already anyway.

Fingers pry open his jaw, dipping into the wet caverns of his mouth. He tries to ignore how much he’s drooling, tries to convince himself that he’s holding onto what flimsy composure he still has left, but he doesn’t put up anything remotely resembling a fight when an erection replaces those fingers. He’s eager for it,  _ almost _ , craning his neck to allow easier access, swallowing it so quickly that he almost gags.

“Feisty and enthusiastic,” the man above him purrs, and he tells himself that the ripple of heat stringing through his belly is annoyance and nothing else, “Quite the catch, Heiwajima-san.”

_ “Heiwajima-san” _ grunts a simple reply. He doesn’t consider Izaya so much of a catch as a constant, unrelenting migraine, but it’s not as though he’s ever tried to do anything to soothe it. Maybe he thinks that divulging Izaya’s deepest fantasies will abait his fiery passion for mischief to a mere simmer, but of course, they both know better. 

This might be just another thing to add to the long list of horrible experiences that they’ve forced each other to endure. If Shizuo expects him to sit through twenty minutes of torturously vanilla sex, then he can handle something like this. It’s only fair, it’s only—

The cock in his mouth rams hard into the back of his throat. The hands in his hair grip his head at the temples, coaxing him forward and back, stealing away what little control he had over this situation and forcing him to endure an entirely unfamiliar situation:

Being powerless. 

Not knowing what might happen.

Worrying, idly, that if things go south, Shizuo won’t care to stop it.

Namie stabs inside of him as the stranger thrusts against his face. He’s clawing at his bindings, trying to remember the safe word, but then he isn’t. Suddenly, he’s arching his back, mewling pornographic noises against the stranger’s erection, and he isn’t entirely sure how he feels about it at all. He isn’t sure about much of anything. He isn’t thinking much of anything at all. 

He can feel the heat of his orgasm creeping nearer. Namie is shoving him backward, dragging the sheets across the bed. His top is tucked beneath his armpits, his underwear shoved so far to the side that it’s covering nothing but sweaty hips. He’s wriggling around within his bindings, trying desperately to pretend that he’s not as close as he is, if only he can fool Shizuo. He thinks that he might actually cum this time, reaching a proverbial hand around to pat himself on the back, but then—

“Stop.”

He’s practically growling when the stranger pulls out of his throat. It might sound sinister in his head, but Namie is laughing. She’s comparing him to a rabid chihuahua. 

“Chikage,” Shizuo continues, “Keep going.”

Chikage. 

Chikage Rokujo.

The… leader of the Toramaru? Why, out of everyone in the city, everyone in the  _ universe _ , did Shizuo consider asking him to join them? Why did he agree? Izaya had heard of their fight—the wounds that Chikage bore for days like a badge of shame around Ikebukuro. He never knew that Shizuo stayed in contact, never would have contemplated that they’d be close enough for _ this. _

He’s choking as Chikage pushes his cock down his throat again. The bitterness of precum wrinkles his nose. He hates the taste of it. He detests it when Shizuo becomes a little too excited and gets it in his mouth. But he doesn’t have the control to pull away this time. He can’t slither back and reprimand this moron for doing something so disgusting. He doesn’t have the power to stop any of this. He’s completely at Shizuo’s mercy. 

And for whatever ridiculous reason, the mere thought of that strikes explosions of pleasure over the heated expanse of his skin.

It doesn’t take long before Chikage is biting out a curse, grasping just a little too roughly at his head and pulling himself out. Izaya almost thanks him for not cumming inside. Before the words can form on his tongue, or even before his brain can register that he’s thinking of anything at all, there’s semen splattering over his cheeks, staining the blindfold with warmth and dribbling over his lips down to his chin. 

He’s revolted. Shizuo has never cum on his face before. He’s too romantic about these things, considers it to be disrespectful, surely. He isn’t crude like Chikage is, apparently. He isn’t the sort of person who can string his cum in another person’s hair and feel no remorse at all. 

He gasps out a curse, maybe he calls Chikage an idiot, but the words sound like nothing but a shrill whine. His thoughts are finding it entirely too difficult to meld themselves into coherent speech.

“You look really pretty like this, Orihara-san,” Chikage coos, smearing a line of cum along his cheek, “Your face is so red, you’re like a peppermint.”

He reels back, skin hot with something that definitely isn’t shame. Orihara Izaya isn’t embarrassed about anything. Orihara Izaya would feel nothing but snide satisfaction in a situation such as this, knowing all-too well that he’d manipulated each of these pawns into this very situation.

But somehow, there is no smugness burying itself deep inside of his swiftly beating heart. There’s no satisfaction clawing through the haze of need. There is nothing but the urge to reach out and beg someone to slide themselves inside of him, and despite how proud Orihara Izaya might be of his reputation of self-control—

He does just that. 

Maybe less with words, and more with the spreading of his thighs, lifting his ass off of the bed and making some nonsense noise that should surely convey just how ready for the next round he really is. He doesn’t even want to think about how he might look right now. He thanks the damp blindfold for shielding him from the greedy eyes of the group around him. He tells himself that later on, he will only remember the pleasure and the blackness.

Heavy footfalls catch his attention. There’s a gust of air that follows the next contender across the room, and before he can contemplate who might be having a go at him next, he recognizes the calloused fingers that run themselves softly over his calves.

He’s missing Namie’s roughness already. Shizuo plants gentle kisses against his knees. He ghosts fingers over Izaya’s skin as though he might shatter, even after everything that they’ve put him through so far. He leans forward onto the bed, knee against the mattress. He’s looming over Izaya like a heated blanket, emanating that monstrous aura, and sending shivers up and down Izaya’s spine. 

He presses their lips together, snakes a hand between them. There’s another figure sneaking closer to the edge of the bed. They settle next to Izaya’s head, just where Chikage had been standing moments before, and he knows what they want from him. He can feel the nervous tension popping between them. 

“D-Dotachin,” he breathes, blinking dumbly under the blindfold in an attempt to clear his head, “How… dirty… to think that Dotachin wants to put himself in my mouth…”

Kadota scoffs, easing back. He’s unsure about this, Izaya knows. Even in his current state, it’s difficult not to pick at the frayed edges of another person’s insecurities. 

Shizuo bites down on his bottom lip. It’s not too hard, of course. Not enough pressure to hurt at all, but it drags his attention back to the hand between them and the hardness of Shizuo’s erection rubbing against his hip. Shizuo’s clothing drags against his sweaty skin, coarse and jarring, pulling him momentarily from the haziness of his arousal and back into reality.

“Kadota,” Shizuo speaks, voice low and gruff, each word prickling excitement through Izaya’s senses, “Shut him up.”

Kadota might be just as turned on by Shizuo’s surprisingly demanding nature tonight as Izaya is, because he’s harder than both of them when he bumps his cock against Izaya’s cheek. 

There are careful hands coming forward to grasp at his face. He shudders as they touch him, tickling against sweat and smearing slowly-drying cum. He wants to be grabbed harder. Kadota might know that, he might be using this slowness as a further means of torture, but Izaya isn’t so sure.

He’s similar to Shizuo, in this way. He must revel in boring, vanilla sex and never dream of roughing up his partner, even if they’d like it.

His lips meet the head, soft and wide and warm. There’s precum slipping against his closed lips. Before Kadota can guide it into his mouth, he’s pushing himself forward, sliding it as deeply into his throat as he can handle. Kadota jerks back, but there’s a hand in his hair, holding him steady.

Shizuo rattles off a shaky breath. Izaya can feel those hands traveling up and down his body, brushing only briefly against any spots that might feel too particularly good. His skin feels as though each of his nerves have opened up, sensitive and eager, and even the brush of hot fingers against a jutting hip bone feels as though it might send him over the edge. 

There’s something pressing against his backside, not hard enough to slip inside. His muscles contract in frustration. His fingers curl beneath the belt. Kadota thrusts forward shallowly, grazing the tip of his erection against Izaya’s hungry tongue. He can feel the string of saliva stretching out between them as Kadota pulls all of the way out. It’s bitter with precum, and he opens his mouth wide in invitation. 

Kadota grits out a curse. He grips Izaya’s chin, hands clumsy against the spit and cum and sweat. He pushes himself back inside, so rough that Izaya is pushed backward. 

“Easy,” Shizuo chides, breath sweeping over the dampness of Izaya’s skin, “He—he can’t say that stupid fucking word if you’re doing that.”

With an effort that feels as though it might be monumental, Kadota pulls out once more. He eases back in, brushing a hand over Izaya’s cheek. He’s too romantic about this, Izaya thinks. He isn’t taking this seriously at all. 

He tugs his head back, allowing Kadota’s cock to fall against his face with a wet slap. He nuzzles against it, drawing his tongue along the shaft. Blind and clumsy, by the way that Kadota shudders, he doesn’t think that he notices just how poorly Izaya is managing this at all. 

“D-Dotachin,” the stumbling might be all for show, but Shizuo is dipping rough fingers inside of him, “I like i-it a little rough. Please… don’t be too gentle.”

He can feel the electricity crackling between the two men above him. He can visualize Shizuo’s aggravated frown—face flushed with excitement, cock swaying slowly as he reaches forward and slides a hand over Izaya’s stomach. He can only imagine that Kadota is sending him a silent call for help, begging him to lead the way and tell him which of Izaya’s words are truthful, and which are an excuse to call out the safe word and ruin the evening, just for the sake of being an asshole.

It’s a fair assumption, he thinks. If he weren’t so ready to finally finish this, he might have considered it. Dotachin is surprisingly entertaining when he’s nervously fumbling his way around inside of someone else’s mouth.

However, this is different. He  _ is _ eager to finish this, to finally be allowed to cum after so many people have been inside of him. He isn’t sure where Namie or that insufferable Chikage are, but he’s sure that they’re watching. He’s sure that they’re just waiting for another turn to torture him until he’s blubbering incoherently and just begging to finish. 

That might have been the original plan, but he isn’t sure how much more of this he can take. If Shizuo finally gets around to fucking him, then—

He jerks as something thick stretches inside of him. It’s a searing burn throughout his entire body, licking flames up his spine. His toes curl, ankles trapped in firm fists. He swallows Kadota even deeper in his surprise. 

Shizuo frees one of his ankles, resting it on his shoulder as he reaches down to palm Izaya’s cock. It hurts, how aroused he is. He imagines the head, swollen and maybe even blue with so many missed orgasms. He imagines how ridiculous he must look, wriggling around like a virgin being touched for the first time. 

Kadota doesn’t last long, whether it’s because of the show he’s putting on, or his words bouncing around inside of his head, but he’s burying himself as deeply inside of Izaya’s mouth as he can without making him gag. He’s cumming with nothing more than a forced grunt of a name that Izaya can’t quite make out over the sound of his own breathing. 

He’s coughing as Kadota pulls out. Cum dribbles from his mouth, trailing down his chin and pattering against the sheets. Shizuo aims a particularly rough thrust, grazing a spot inside of him that makes him forget who exactly he is for a moment, and before he can compose himself, the brute is hitting it straight on. 

He settles on his back, head wet in a puddle of saliva and cum. He’s so lightheaded, so foggy with the exhaustion of so many different hands leaving the warm ghosts of touch along his skin that he can’t stop himself from calling out.

“S-Shizu-chan, p-please,” he’s crying like a pathetic child. He’s begging like a dirty whore, “”L-let me—l-let me—p-please—”

Shizuo slows his thrusts until he stops, pulling himself out. His hand leaves Izaya’s erection so quickly that he barely has time to comprehend it. He snaps his hips up blindly, slipping awkwardly as one leg falls from Shizuo’s shoulder and the other is still trapped in his grip. His cock jerks, beads of precum crying from the tip, every nerve in his body fluttering in painful desperation. 

“Shi—Shizu—S-Shizu—”

Shizuo drops his ankle, pushing him down against the mattress and leaning forward to capture his lips. He can’t even close his mouth to accept it, can’t stop himself from shaking and thrusting helplessly upward. Shizuo lets out a quiet laugh, a boom of noise cracking open the silence. He can only hear that voice. He can only concentrate on how terribly he needs something to fill him up without stopping until he’s finally allowed to find the release of his orgasm. 

“P-please—Shizu—pl—”

Shizuo kisses him again, pulling the soiled blindfold toward his hairline and out of his eyes. Everything is blurry around him. The room is dark and grainy, the shadows of three additional figures looming so close that every part of him screams with the urge to hide. His chest rises and falls in shaky rhythm. His arms begin to numb underneath him. 

Shizuo is hoisting him up, turning him effortlessly as he tries, in vain, to catch his breath and focus on anything but the way that his erection rubs his belly as he’s moved. 

The belt is untied from his wrists. His arms fall limply to the mattress at his sides. He allows himself to slide back against Shizuo, held up only by that overbearing heat and hardness of the idiot’s chest. 

Shizuo must have said something, because each of the shadows surrounding them come closer. He’s lifted up, held mid-air for only a moment, and then there’s something slipping inside of him. There’s no discomfort anymore, only the hot claws of pleasure raking across his belly. He shuffles, sliding further down, enveloping as much of Shizuo as he can as Namie shoves the strap-on in his face. 

He takes it immediately, sucking at it as though it’s the real thing, as though Namie might get any pleasure from this aside from watching how enthusiastically he’s letting her dominate him. 

A hand grasps his own as it’s slowly regaining feeling. He doesn’t have to look to know that it’s Kadota, with how carefully he’s lifting it to brush against his flaccid penis. 

_ ‘Ready so soon?’ _ he might say, if his mind weren’t so bogged with the need to get off and his mouth weren’t so filled with Namie’s toy,  _ ‘Dotachin must have been wanting to do this for a long time.’ _

Chikage is following Kadota’s lead, grabbing his other hand and leading it to a considerably harder erection. His hands fumble with it dumbly, but Chikage wraps his fingers around it, tightening their shared grip around his cock and instructing it to move. 

Kadota is coming slowly to life in his other hand. He moves sore arms, tries to tighten his fists. Kadota helps his thrusts, lets out little hisses of breath and annoying reassurances. He can see him trembling out of the corner of his eye, and he already expects that Kadota will cum quicker than anyone else. 

His body bounces as Shizuo begins to thrust, gracelessly shoving him against the dildo and jostling each of his hands. No one seems to mind too much, and he’s too far gone to complain. All he can feel is that stiffness inside of him, the rubber in his mouth, and the continuous slapping of his own erection against his midriff. 

Shizuo increases his speed, wrapping his arms around Izaya’s chest. He buries his face into the dip between Izaya’s neck and shoulder, biting down as his breath runs hot against Izaya’s sweaty skin.

He’s moving his hands, taking Namie into his throat, mumbling moans and garbling pleas for more—for deeper, harder,  _ please, please, please _ —

Shizuo bucks up, cumming hot inside of him. He feels it filling him, dribbling out as Shizuo pulls himself from inside. His thighs ache as Kadota chokes a groan and more cum splatters over his hand and face. He barely remembers the lingerie, barely notices the strange, wet webbing of cum-stained fabric clinging to him. 

Chikage keeps ghosting his movements, leading his thrusts. Namie pulls the strap-on from his mouth.

Shizuo stops none of this, just breathes against his back. No one makes a move to touch him. 

Chikage cums soon enough, polite enough to clasp his fist over himself so Izaya isn’t sullied further. However, when he reaches forward, pressing those dirty fingers to Izaya’s lips, he isn’t sure how indignant he should be as he opens his mouth and allows them to venture inside. 

The flavor mingles with the hints of rubber, so many different tastes of so many different people—the sweetness of Shizuo’s kiss, the remnants of the sushi he ate earlier in the afternoon.

He cleans Chikage’s fingers, dipping his tongue to lap at his open palm. He can feel the fire of Shizuo’s eyes watching him. That thunderous heartbeat pounds against his back. 

“N-Namie,” he purrs, voice so much rougher and breathier than he thinks it might have ever been before, “What… would your brother think of you… right now?”

The itching of his scalp and the painful jerk of his neck as his hair is grasped and he’s pulled forward trickles slowly throughout his senses. He’s groggy, muscles moving through molasses in an attempt to free himself, and Namie is screeching something awful through the veil of his breathing and the rush of his pulse in his ears.

He isn’t sure why, but his hair is freed. Shizuo is pulling him back, voice a big boom of nothing as Namie paces further from the bed. 

It might be troublesome, if he weren’t so out of it, the mere thought of Shizuo fighting any of his battles for him. He isn’t sure why he goaded her, but something about the tugging at his hair only causes more pressure to build up deep inside of him. He finds himself wishing that maybe Shizuo would let her have a go at him as she is now—so aggravated, so offended that he’s sure that she would give it all that she has. 

He doesn’t have a lot of time to hope, however, because there’s a hand on his erection. It settles at the base, squeezing just a little, fingers pushing at the skin. He twitches, lets his head fall back against Shizuo’s shoulder. He barely even recognizes the noises that he’s making anymore. 

Shizuo takes advantage of his exposed throat, dragging a tongue along all of the mess on his skin. He might have chided him for being gross, might have bullied him with accusations of being a dog, of eating filth like a monster, but he finds that nothing will quite finish the journey from the weak thrumming of his thoughts to tip of his tongue. 

All that he can do is make these little noises. He can jerk and he can beg, but nothing meaningful can find it’s way through the gritted cage of his teeth. 

Shizuo begins to move his hand, stopping to slide a thumb over his slit, smearing the precum and the half-dried saliva. He grasps firmer at the shaft, pumping gradually, gripping tighter in all of the places that he’s learned that Izaya prefers.

There’s static taking over his brain. He might fear that he’ll be denied orgasm again, he might be looking forward to it. He can’t tell anymore. He can’t think of anything but that hand on him. 

The stiffness growing in his belly spreads to his chest, to his arms and his thighs and all the way down to his toes. Shizuo is pumping at him quickly, the slap of skin and the squelching of wetness gathering beneath his fingers cuts through the quiet, but he can barely hear any of it.

There’s a lot of loud breathing. Someone calls out, louder than he thinks that they should, but he can’t understand who it is. He feels as though he’s been dragged beneath hot water, gasping helplessly for oxygen, stretching tired limbs wider as a heat surges through him, and suddenly—

Everything goes black.    
  


* * *

Through a hazy fog, with eyes that feel as though they’re being held down with cement blocks, Izaya finds himself fading into consciousness. There are voices muffled above him, the vibrations of speech looping from each corner of the room. Which room, he isn’t sure. There’s a wetness underneath him, barely there at all. There’s the shadow of touch drawing gingerly across his skin. 

As the murkiness of sleep slips away, he finds himself staring up at the ceiling. He traces the cracks, the darkness casting long lines against white plaster, and he notices the dampness of a cloth wiping away the mess on his stomach. He’s naked now, he realizes, by the light touches of the sheets against bare skin, but he can’t remember anyone undressing him. 

He can’t quite find the strength to move his head, but he forces himself to look down, gaze catching Shizuo’s dark eyes. There’s a lot of worry there that he doesn’t understand until the cloth meets a particularly sore spot, and he wonders who was gripping him hard enough to bruise. 

His body must be covered in them, he muses. Shizuo won’t be happy about this at all. 

Namie is complaining about something from the doorway. He watches as she stuffs a lot of straps and a lot of obscenely shaped rubber into a plastic case, heels clicking against the floor as she moves about. Chikage is leaning against the doorframe. He’s chatting to her casually, naked from the waist down and speaking to her so sweetly that Izaya finds himself wondering if maybe this isn’t a bizarre situation at all. 

Shizuo leaves a trail of kisses behind each swipe of the washcloth. He’s touching Izaya like he’s a porcelain doll, so cautious that Izaya can almost hear the glass cracking in his ears. 

“Sh—Shizu-chan,” his throat is filled with gravel. His limbs are tied down with heavy, metal chains, “It’s—It’s fine. Let me.”

Shizuo shakes his head, huffing in frustration.

“You should have said the word,” he breathes, brows knitted tightly, shoulders tense with stress, “I shouldn’t have let this happen.”

Izaya croaks the best laugh that he can handle. It ricochets against the walls, dragging everyone’s attention to the two of them seated alone on the bed. 

“W-what, this?” He might be sweeping his arms through the air, if his arms weren’t made of putty, “I wanted it, Shizu-chan. Just like this.”

Shizuo is staring down at him, eyes a searchlight for any untruths. Izaya feels a little too exposed beneath it, as though anything that he says next might be picked apart until Shizuo finds exactly what he’s looking for somewhere underneath the surface.

“That silly safe word,” he pauses to clear his throat, “It would have only slowed us down, right?”

The question hangs in the air, smoke above each of their heads, a dark trace of something doubtful in Shizuo’s eyes. 

Kisses pepper his chest. A smoldering hand cups his cheek. Even those are sore, he notes. Everything aches. His entire body feels as though it’s been untangled from the depths of a dumpster. It’s a good hurt, like a healing sunburn, like the lick of fond memories only highlighted by the sting that they’ve left behind. 

“I…”

Shizuo looks at him as he trails off.

A pressing silence overcomes them, everyone watching, just waiting for him to voice a regret. 

“N-Namie, I’ll need you to… c-cancel all of my meetings tomorrow.”

Chikage laughs loudly. Kadota is getting dressed somewhere off in the corner. Namie doesn’t answer him so much as she curses him, slamming the door with a deafening bang as the clicking of those heels fades down the hall. 

When the last of their guests leave, Shizuo lifts him up. He kisses him all the way to the shower, whispers things so sweet as he’s washing him that he thinks that he might vomit. 

He’s dressed in his favorite pajamas, tucked lovingly into bed. Shizuo slides in behind him, wraps his arms around him like a security blanket. 

Before he allows the threads of sleep to string themselves into his brain, he leans back for another kiss.

And he whispers, voice still healing from those unnatural noises that he hopes he’ll be able to forget ever making:

“Shizu-chan, I think next time you should take my place.”


	2. Heiwajima Shizuo: All Tied Up

Shizuo leans forward, cheeks on fire as he shuffles awkwardly on the edge of the bed. His toes barely touch the floor, knees drawn and parted. His teeth dig into the gag between his lips as he struggles to regain his composure. No one is even in the room yet, he tells himself. If he can’t get a grip on himself while he’s completely alone, how is he going to handle the crowd?

He isn’t entirely sure how Izaya took this in stride, how he never seemed to falter, even as he was spread out and exposed to everyone in the room. Even as people who claimed to dislike him, and some who even  _ hated _ him, dug their fingers into his skin and touched him in such private places.

He ignores the clicking of his feet hitting the floor. One tap, then two, as he scoots forward and balances himself. He doesn’t know where Izaya bought this outfit. The shoes are far too big to be a woman’s size. The heels are tall, sharply pointed. He isn’t sure if he could walk in them if he really needed to—if  _ anyone  _ could, or if they’re just for aesthetic appeal. They’re cherry red, standing out starkly against the blackness of the stockings that run all the way up to his thighs. The dark straps of the garter belt, the shadowed frills of his underwear, the sheer, patterned fabric of the clingy top, fashioned with so many useless straps that he wonders why anyone finds this sort of outfit sexy.

It’s revealing, he’ll give it that. And the ropes that loop around his arms, all the way down his back and forcing open his thighs, make him feel more vulnerable than he’s ever felt before.

_ “It looks stupid,”  _ he’d told Izaya, pressing his arms against the bindings and wondering how much force it would take to snap them.

_ “It’s an ancient custom,”  _ Izaya had clicked his tongue, but the hungry amusement had never faltered in his gaze,  _ “Shibari, Shizu-chan. Are you really so uncultured that you’ve never heard of it before?” _

He hadn’t ever heard of it, and it’s not like he had a chance to search for it on the internet as Izaya was making little patterns along his skin with the ropes. It’s pretty, maybe, in a perverted kind of way. The ropes are rough against his thighs, digging into his elbows and wrists, but the glance that he’d chanced at himself in the mirror had yielded the image of a work of art: like the photos in those erotic art exhibitions that Tom-san talks about sometimes—a woman painted in a variety of colors, hanging from the ceiling in a dimly-lit room. 

He isn’t really sure what the boundary is between art and garbage, but he’s always felt that those sorts of things might be pushing it.

Regardless, he doesn’t want to admit how much he’s feeling like an unwrapped present. He’s half-hard beneath the smooth fabric of the panties. His nipples are stiff in the cold emptiness of their bedroom, pupils dilated in the dim light. He might look like he’s eager for this, and maybe he is. Maybe pleasure had danced like a thousand tiny volts of electricity against his skin when Izaya had suggested that he take his place this time. Maybe he’d been a little too eager to be tied up. He would never give Izaya the satisfaction of saying it out loud, but maybe… it’s okay to want this. Maybe Izaya wasn’t lying when he said that it was exactly what he wanted.

He can hear voices speaking through the closed door. He doesn’t know who stands on the other side, just that Izaya had selected a group of people who he deemed appropriate for this sort of thing. He knows that Izaya was pissy about him inviting Kadota last time, and even he can figure out that he’s probably decided to pay him back for that tenfold. He doesn’t even want to think about it.

What if Izaya convinced Celty and Shinra to join? What if he tricked Vorona into it?

He cringes, pushing against the ropes as weakly as he can muster in his nervousness. Izaya surely knows better than that. He knows that despite all of the work that they’ve put into organizing this, despite how eagerly Izaya had listened to his desires and planned an evening based solely on them, that he wouldn’t be able to get aroused if his innocent kohai were scrutinizing his every twitch and moan. 

Before he can delve into these horrifying ideas any further, the door handle turns, and Izaya is smiling wryly as he pushes through the threshold. Shizuo thanks whichever deity might be watching over him that he opted out of sitting here with a toy inside of him, if only so he won’t have to go through the humiliation that he put Izaya through before. 

Guilt tugs at his chest, and he reminds himself, for what feels like the thousandth time, that Izaya wanted that. For whatever deranged reason, he enjoyed the degradation. It’s embarrassing enough, sitting here, tied up in women’s clothing as a small group of fully-clothed onlookers shuffles in. He can’t imagine craving anything more humiliating than this. 

“O-oh, he’s—”

Kadota seems to choke on his words the moment that Shizuo looks at him. Their eyes lock, and the flush that settles along Kadota’s cheeks makes Shizuo wonder who exactly is bound on the bed. He knows that it must be embarrassing even looking at him, but the expression on Kadota’s face is one of hunger. It’s a parting of lips and a widening of the eyes that he’s familiar seeing from Izaya late in the night, and he isn’t entirely sure how a normal person in a normal situation would react to it. 

He likes Kadota enough, sure, but he doesn’t really know him. Not enough for any strange feelings to swell between the two of them. Definitely not enough for those needy little glances to do anything for him but raise annoyance in his chest. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise to see Chikage, really. Izaya had went on and on about how irritating that “unexpected guest” had been last time. It’s a weak payback, but he can sense the smugness coming off of Izaya in waves. As though Chikage would risk getting punched for making even half of the jokes with Shizuo that he did with Izaya. Surely, even he’s not that much of a moron. 

Namie is thankfully absent, but a woman who he doesn’t recognize has taken her place. Actually—he takes a moment to look at her, to make sure that she’s  _ really _ a woman at all. She’s all muscle, from what he can see. Tanned and chiseled, with small breasts pressed tightly against her chest beneath a snug top. The muscles of her abdomen lead downward toward dense hips, thick legs, tightly-laced boots. She’s speaking with Izaya about something, toothy grin as feral as he’s ever seen a woman look before. If not for her subtle curves, he might have thought that Izaya had decided to do away with the “feminine aspect” altogether.

She combs a hand through wild hair, and Izaya says something to her that wipes the smile right off of her face. So there actually are women, aside from Namie and Celty, who are immune to Izaya’s sneaky charm. He can feel the nervousness coiling in his lower belly, mingling with the excitement as blood flow increases downward. 

This isn’t good at all. No one has even so much as  _ looked _ at him, and he’s already aching with need. 

Izaya leans through the doorway to usher another guest inside. He’s expecting the click of heels against the hardwood, the snide bark of an impatient woman with a briefcase full of toys, but the footfalls are heavily and less calculated. The man who steps into the room is the last person who he would have expected for Izaya to invite. 

“A-ah, Shizuo, you look—”

“A little tied up?” Izaya offers, and no one seems willing to slap him for it. No one seems to comprehend the mental rollercoaster that Shizuo’s brain is looping through as he watches the final guest’s nervous laugh, the slow scratching at the back of his head, the flustered way that he pushes his glasses further up his nose. 

“T-Tom-san?!” 

His exclamation is muffled through the gag. Izaya cackles, and he’s momentarily overcome with the need to break free and punch him, to throttle him in front of everyone, for bringing his boss—of all people—into this. Shizuo might have invited Namie, but only because— _ because— _

She’s nothing like Tom-san. The humiliation of being touched by her was surely nowhere near the level of absolute horror that Shizuo is feeling right now. 

Tom-san bows shallowly, drawing just a little further into the room than anyone else has dared. He looks how he always does—tired, pensive, curious and goodnatured. Shizuo can imagine him just like this, walking through the busy city streets en route to their next debtor’s house, and the surrealness of the situation makes his head spin. 

His cock twitches, straining harder against the fabric of his underwear, and he refuses to address why. His boss’s eyes are trained on his face, but he catches the glimpses that Tom-san is sending between his legs. He might be the only one who’s noticed, and Shizuo decides that he’s the last person who he wishes would. 

The muscular woman is bending over to untie her boots. He wonders why she didn’t take them off at the door, but he isn’t willing to make a fool of himself by reprimanding her through the godforsaken rubber between his teeth. Chikage is going on about something with Kadota, who seems to be having a hard time catching his breath. He keeps looking in Shizuo’s direction, fiddling with his jacket sleeves and shuffling from foot to foot. 

Shizuo huffs, trailing his gaze in Izaya’s direction. Their eyes meet, Izaya watching him like a cat, gaze trained on a feathery toy, like a tiny monster waiting for the chance to leap forward and strike. The dread that he expects to find inside of himself is only want, only a hot knot building tighter and tighter in his belly. The panties are wet against the head of his penis, precum slick and cold the air catches it. He’s not comfortable with how much he wants this. He doesn’t recognize this animalistic need within himself, but he can’t find the will to care.

“Okay,” Izaya steps forward, clapping his hands twice to gain the attention of the group, “We have rules tonight, everyone. Shizu-chan doesn’t like it too rough.”

He winks in Shizuo’s direction, cool and collected despite the white hot shame warming Shizuo’s cheeks. He could break the ropes and close his legs. Maybe he could free his arms and cover up with the blanket, if only to feel less like a conversation piece in the center of the crowd, but his body won’t listen to him. 

_ “Rubbery limbs” _ , Izaya had described, when they’d talked about his experiences only weeks ago. He hadn’t understood at the time. He’d thought that his monstrous body would never allow him to feel so weak, but he’s startled to find that even monsters, apparently, are not immune to the heavy hands of need. And he’s folded so eagerly, so much quicker than Izaya had.

“Rule number one,” Izaya continues, coming close enough that he’s able to reach out and draw gentle knuckles over Shizuo’s cheek, “No name-calling.”

He isn’t so sure about the woman, but he can’t imagine Tom-san or Kadota saying anything rude to him. He feels childish for that request, for thinking of Namie calling Izaya so many awful names and imagining how foolish he would feel if anyone did the same to him.

“Rule number two: the safe-word is _parfait_.”

Izaya emphasises this with a knowing look in Kadota’s direction, but Kadota seems to be in a trance. He’s dragging his eyes from the glossy heels toward Shizuo’s spread thighs, hesitating a little too long on the growing bulge tucked between them.

“Now, three and four are my own rules, but only because Shizu-chan doesn’t know what’s best for him sometimes,” punctuated with a light slap against the cheek, Izaya’s grin stretches from ear to ear, “Shizu-chan is not to touch anyone with his hands. His mouth—”

There’s a finger tracing over his wet lips, tapping against the exposed piece of the gag before Izaya continues—

“Is fair-game, but no hands, even if he loses control and breaks his bindings.”

It makes no sense, but Shizuo isn’t in the position to argue. The thought of tracing slow lines across Tom-san’s soft skin, of mapping out the hard muscle of Kadota’s shoulders or the jutting bone of Chikage’s hips—he feels drunk with unsettling arousal. He feels as though he should be fighting for his right to touch everyone so much harder than his body will allow.

“And finally, rule number four,” Izaya is unclipping the gag as he talks, stopping only to press a single kiss against Shizuo’s sweat-dampened forehead, “Be gentle. Shizu-chan loves boring, vanilla sex.”

He nips at Izaya’s finger as he pulls the gag from his lips, the only offense that he can muster as his muscles twitch with need. His breathing, ragged. His pulse, pounding in his ears. He wonders if Izaya also felt high and exhilarated. He wonders if he’d wanted nothing more than for the semantics to end and the real fun to begin.

He can barely comprehend the nearing footsteps as Izaya drops to his knees, tucked between his legs and looking up at him from under hooded eyes. His smile glints with something sinister, but Shizuo has been sleeping with him long enough that he no longer fears that his penis might end up getting mangled between those sparkling teeth. That look means only one thing anymore: that Izaya is ready, he’s eager, and he’s not going to stop until everyone in the room is satisfied.

Good, Shizuo thinks. He wouldn’t want it any other way.

Izaya’s fingers ghost against the tops of his feet, skimming the edges where the shoes end and skin begins. He shivers at the light touches, struggling to ignore his erection poking out between them as he looks over the edge of the bed. Izaya flicks his gaze down, then up again. His smile widens even further as he leans forward and drags his tongue along the trail of warmth that his fingers left behind.

Shizuo flinches, but he doesn’t try to move away. He watches with wide eyes, ignoring the breathing of everyone closing in around them. He only jolts when a hand brushes against his shoulder, and as his head jerks in the direction of the source, Izaya is planting soft kisses against his ankle.

Kadota looks down at him apologetically, withdrawing his hand only a little. It feels heavy against his shoulder, hot and meaningful. His chest heaves as he looks into Kadota’s reddened face. He can’t find the will to speak.

Apparently, neither can Kadota.

Izaya is muttering something that sounds suspiciously like _ “beautiful” _ as Kadota tugs him sideways into a kiss. He jerks a little as Izaya’s teeth graze sensitive ankles, skin frequently left untouched by any weapons and any real damage. Cold hands are shadowing up his calves, seeming to relish the smoothness of his scars, the bullet-marks and road-rash scuffs. The remnants of each of the fights that have built him into a monster. 

Izaya has never been so tender before, and he can feel the warmth blossoming in his chest. The embarrassment, feeling too vulnerable and far too naked as many different pairs of eyes watch Kadota kissing him shyly, and Izaya touching him as though he might shatter in his grip. 

Izaya dips his tongue beneath the edge of Shizuo’s shoes, and the sensation sends a volt of electricity straight to his groin. He makes a noise that he isn’t sure is entirely human, pulling back from Kadota’s lips and biting out a curse. 

Izaya smiles sweetly up at him, fingers slipping beneath the edge of his shoe and working it halfway off of his foot. 

“Who would have thought that Shizu-chan likes getting his feet played with?” Izaya hums, maddeningly calm, infuriatingly smug, “Or does Shizu-chan just like the attention?”

Every word that leaves Izaya’s mouth leaves him feeling more and more perverted. He doesn’t  _ know _ . He’s never thought about it before. Before Izaya, the range of his experience was just a quick session in the shower before work—his own hand against his own skin and all of the mess neatly washed down the drain. He’d never learned what he liked or disliked, and he still doesn’t understand it entirely. 

Sometimes Izaya does something with his tongue that feels especially good, and sometimes he hits a spot inside of him just right, but he can’t ever seem to give these sensations a name. He wouldn’t know if he had a fetish, or what makes a fetish, or what sorts of people even have fetishes—

A hand grips firmly at his erection through the damp fabric of the panties. He jerks forward, hissing in satisfaction. His brow furrows, toes curling inside of his shoes, and he chances a squinted look at the perpetrator. 

Chikage grins down at him. Of course, he should have known. He shudders at the mere idea of that butch woman or—God forbid,  _ Tom-san— _ having the gall to reach out and touch him before anyone else got the chance.

“I didn’t think it was possible, really,” Chikage croons, working the fabric against the head of Shizuo’s erection in a way that has him struggling not to wriggle around too much, “But Heiwajima-san is actually really pretty like this.”

He grits his teeth, losing the battle of denying that any of this feels good, that Chikage’s hand isn’t working him just the right way, and Izaya’s tongue drawing slowly over his ankle isn’t only amplifying the pleasure concentrating itself right where palm meets fabric and fabric meets flesh.

Kadota’s fingers press softly into his jaw, moving his face away from both other men and pressing their lips together again.

He vaguely notices the sound of a zipper buzzing below them, the fumbling of shaking hands in heavy clothing. He doesn’t think much of it as Chikage pushes the panties aside and finally frees his cock, or as Izaya nips gently at his calf. Or even as Kadota nibbles at his bottom lip, dragging an apologetic tongue between them before pushing it inside. He whimpers in the most degrading way when Kadota pulls back, pointedly ignoring the dribble of saliva that stretches between them. 

He feels weightless when a cock is pushed against his cheek. He sits still for a few heartbeats, trying to get a handle on his breathing, wondering only how Izaya kept a level-head when already, he’s feeling as though he might finish. 

Izaya might have sensed this, because the hand against his erection is pulled away. He doesn’t mourn it, or maybe he doesn’t get the chance, because Kadota is pressing his own erection between his lips, urging it inside, and he can only eagerly accept it.

Kadota is shaking so hard that he almost stops, almost asks if he’s okay, but there are hands lacing through his hair, pushing him forward and pulling him back. It’s nothing that he couldn’t wrestle free from if he really wanted, and it’s not as though he wants to anyway. He chances a look up at Kadota’s face, contemplating the dark flush working all the way to the tips of his ears and down his neck. His eyes are shut tightly. teeth digging into his bottom lip. He thinks about those snide comments that Izaya made last time. 

_ “How… dirty… to think that Dotachin wants to put himself in my mouth…” _

Maybe it is a little weird that Kadota always goes for the mouth, but in a situation such as this, he really has no room to pass judgement. 

Kadota cracks open an eye, meeting his gaze. He isn’t sure what happens then, what Kadota is thinking, or why his hips jerk forward so roughly that he hits the back of Shizuo’s throat. He doesn’t know why those fingers in his hair pull so hard that it almost hurts, or why there’s semen spurting already, far too soon, down his throat and gagging him.

He chokes, finally pulling away. Kadota steps back, but he’s sputtering and he’s trembling in the wake of his orgasm. A string of cum spills from Shizuo’s lips. He’s coughing, and Izaya is forcing down the snorts of a laugh.

“W-what the fuck?!”

Kadota flinches. He’s mortified, obviously, incoherent with embarrassment as he attempts to speak. Shizuo swallows what he can, hating the fact that his hands can’t reach forward and clean the mess from his chin. He can feel it stringing down his neck, itching against his collarbone and dampening the edges of his top. It doesn’t make any sense at all. He barely touched the guy! It must have only been a minute, tops, that Kadota was even inside of his mouth! 

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya’s tone is sly, his fingers cold against Shizuo’s knees as he pulls himself to his feet, “Dotachin just got a little excited. Don’t be mad at him. I’m sure someone else would be happy to fill your mouth next.”

Before he can decide whether or not he really is mad at Kadota, or maybe just startled—maybe a little embarrassed and confused, and his sex muddled mind can’t quite make the distinction between so many emotions right now—the wild-haired girl is padding forward, cracking her neck in a display that is as terrifying as it is strangely arousing.

“This guy’s the strongest in Ikebukuro, right?” She questions, (Shizuo doesn’t miss Izaya’s indignant reply of  _ “one of the strongest” _ ) before threading her fingers through his hair and pulling his head back, “I wouldn’t mind testing just how strong he really is.”

He’s being pushed back against the mattress before he can even fathom what she means by that. He’s never been with a woman before, and his terror must be evident on his face, because she cups a gentle hand against his cheek, eyes instantly softening.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” And he wants to smack her hand away, but his arms are tucked between him and the bed, rubbing against the ropes so harshly that a normal person might be in pain. He settles for a nod, forcing fire into his gaze and hoping, warily, that he might be able to figure this out as he goes. 

She releases his head, allowing him to settle back on the mattress before pushing a knee against the edge. She brushes his hair from his face, lingering touches burning against his skin. He can’t quite see Izaya from his position, but he can feel those hands pressing against the heels, pushing them back into place. 

His feet stick awkwardly up into the air, held in place by the ropes. He’s keenly aware of the cold air against his erection, and the thin strip of fabric hiding his ass from everyone watching. He doesn’t even want to think about where Tom-san is. He can feel Chikage dragging eager fingers over his outer thigh. He senses Kadota moving about somewhere just out of sight.

The woman stops to pull her pants down to the floor, stepping out of them and tossing them to the side. She places her knee back on the bed, grasping at his shoulder to balance herself as she climbs up. His mind buzzes with the effort of figuring out just what she’s planning. His cock throbs with the need for attention.

After a moment of waiting, she swings one leg over his face, resting her thighs on either side of his head. He tries not to focus on the wetness hovering just centimeters away from his nose, forces his eyes to map out the tiny spot of hair above it, the small breasts heaving beneath their bindings. He expects for her to break out some clever line, to berate him for his nervous hesitation, but she only slumps downward, pushing herself lightly against his lips in a quiet, open invitation.

Maybe she’s also expecting the worst from him. Maybe she thinks that he’ll call out the safe-word or throw her off. She shivers as he pokes his tongue out, drawing it between her lips—questioning, exploring, trying to figure out what the hell a man usually does in these sorts of situations. 

He doesn’t think much of the taste. It’s similar to Izaya, to Kadota—the bitterness of another person’s body, the salt of sweat, the indefinable flavor that isn’t as bad as it is good, isn’t gross enough that he isn’t enjoying the little tremors wracking through her as he finds a small bundle of skin near the top at laps at it.

“R-right away,” she breathes, reaching down to tangle her fingers in his hair, “He’s a natural.”

Izaya hums something off to the side, but he can’t seem to focus on anything but the way that she’s bucking against him. He wonders momentarily if he would touch her if his hands were free. His tongue dips inside of her, testing the tightness, tasting her deeper, and he wonders what it would feel like if he buried his cock inside instead. 

He doesn’t have a lot of time to consider that. Fingers are pressing at his backside, warm and slick. He can’t see around the woman to make out who it is, but their hands are bigger than Izaya’s. They push one finger inside, slow and careful. Someone is dotting gentle kisses against his thighs. Someone is untying the front of his top. 

He feels a little like a glass figurine, he thinks. The kind that his mom used to keep in a locked cabinet in the living room. When he and Kasuka were young, she would take one out and let them hold it. His favorite was a dancing girl. A ballerina, his mother told him. He remembers the careful way that he would hold it when Kasuka passed it over, marveling at its beauty and clutching it as though it might break from touch alone.

A beautiful, fragile thing, he’s sucking lightly at the woman’s clit, wiggling only when something thicker and hotter than fingers is pushing torturously slow inside of him. Izaya might know him better than he knows himself. He might not know about the glass ballerina, but he seems to have sensed just how badly Shizuo has always yearned to be touched that way.

It’s a mortifying thought that he’ll save for later, he thinks. His brain is barely keeping up as it is.

The first few thrusts are shallow. His body feels no pain, only need. It accepts the intruder eagerly, waves of pleasure rolling over his skin as the woman above him bites back a moan. She’s clutching at his head so tightly that it should probably hurt. He can hear Izaya’s laughter dancing around them, growing only nearer as he walks around the bed.

“Mikage,” he speaks, an authority in his tone that makes Shizuo’s erection stand somehow even taller, “Why don’t you put yourself to good use down there.”

He motions downward, and Shizuo shivers. She takes a moment to reply, even longer to climb off, but she complies eventually, only after hopping off of the bed and grabbing something from the nightstand. 

The sound of a package ripping open seems out of place, but he can’t quite understand why. Mikage is coming closer again, pumping at his erection three times before sliding something cool and slippery around it. It takes him a few frazzled heartbeats to recognize the feeling of a condom, and he mentally kicks himself for not making the connection, for not realizing what exactly Izaya had in mind when he dismissed her.

She’s climbing back on top of him, wasting no time at all. He remembers the wetness pressed against his face, still tastes her on his lips. He watches her until Izaya bumps his cock against his cheek, smiling down at him sweetly.

“Shizu-chan hasn’t forgotten about me, has he?”

There’s barely a beat of time between the question and the moment in which Shizuo cranes his neck to swallow Izaya’s erection. He bobs his head automatically, forgetting about the crowd if only to allow himself to remember how Izaya likes this. How he wants to be touched, at which speed. 

There’s a warmth, a wet tightness enveloping him. His mind fizzles, overstimulated, overheated, over-exhausted. Mikage is moving, and so is the person inside of him. Even Izaya is thrusting gently in and out of his mouth, hand against his cheek to keep him steady.

“S-Shizu-chan definitely loves the attention,” he purrs, dark lashes casting long shadows over his cheeks, lips parted in a lopsided, needy smile, “But Shizu-chan… really seems… to love b-being dominated by his boss.”

The words tear him from the pleasured fog, dulling him to the sensations of everyone moving in him and on him and around him. He feels that hardness buried deep inside of him, burning trails of hot embarrassment into his very core as he struggles to comprehend it— _ Tom-san inside of him.  _ Tom-san…  _ Doing this to him. _

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever go to work again. He doesn’t know how they’ll ever be able to eat lunch together without seeing each other—without Tom-san looking at him and imagining how it felt to bury himself inside—

“He’s just messing with you, H-Heiwajima-san,” Chikage calls, breathing sharply as he slaps his hips especially hard against Shizuo’s backside, “You’ve got a mean-streak, Orihara-san, you know that?”

Izaya’s laugh is more of a moan, but Shizuo’s resounding anger is the same. He swallows Izaya deeper, dragging his tongue along the underside of his erection as he bobs his head, reveling in the shocked shivering and the desperate way that Izaya grasps at him.

“N-not fair, S-Shizu-chan,” he gasps, “I-I—was just kidding.”

Regardless of how reassuring it is to find Chikage inside of him instead of Tom-san, he knows that a time will come when Tom-san will move forward and touch him. The heat around his cock, moving quicker, growing tighter, is enough of a distraction that he convinces himself that it doesn’t matter. Tom-san agreed to this for some reason, and he hasn’t left. He hasn’t—

Mikage lets out a high-pitched noise, shuddering erratically on top of him as her orgasm rolls through her. Chikage snaps his hips forward, cursing as Shizuo feels himself tighten, feels the claws of his own orgasm pulling him over the edge. His head spins, and he’s seeing stars.

He’s fading into a fuzzy whiteness, for only a moment. His entire body is wracked with pleasure, toes curling so tightly that one of the shoes clatters to the floor. Izaya clicks his tongue. He isn’t sure why the sound of it cuts through the fog. He’s breaching the drowning haze of his high, and he’s looking up into the disappointed eyes of Izaya, feeling oddly rebellious. Feeling, strangely, as though he should apologize. 

Mikage pulls herself off of him with a huff, her words unintelligible as he finds himself getting lost in Izaya’s eyes. He can see his face in their reflection—wet with cum, with sweat, eyes glazed and mouth ajar. He wants to look away, to deny that he’s looking so needy, so hungry, but he can’t. Izaya is speaking, but he can’t make out a word of it. Chikage thrusts inward again. He jerks, far too sensitive, and Izaya laughs.

“If this is too much, then maybe you shouldn’t have finished so early, huh?”

With a growl, he finally tears his gaze away. The shadow of Kadota is drawing nearer, clearing in his vision as he rounds the bed. Izaya is pumping slowly at his own erection, shameless, and Shizuo wonders why he wouldn’t be. Almost everyone in this room has touched Izaya by now. By the way that he and Mikage have been interacting, he wouldn’t be surprised if they’d slept together before as well.

He tells himself that the thought of it doesn’t make him jealous, but the feelings still come. He’s still struggling weakly to free himself, not quite committed to it, but still itching to drag Izaya forward and make sure that everyone understands that after this is done and they each go home for the night, Izaya is his and no one else’s.

“What are you thinking about, Shizu-chan?” Izaya questions, and the silence seems to be the answer that he was expecting, because he doesn’t press it. 

Or maybe he can tell, maybe he knew all along.

_ You, of course. Always you. _

Izaya slides away, padding across the floor with a confident gait that is in no way thwarted by the erection bobbing upward and downward with each step that he takes. Chikage’s slow thrusts have picked up momentum, his hips slapping wetly against Shizuo’s ass each time that he pushes inside. He rubs a spot that sends a hot ache up Shizuo’s spine, a heat concentrating in his gut that his spent erection has no idea how to handle.

He watches himself getting fucked for a moment, then two. With each thrust, the heat expands, vibrating over his skin. With each second, his cock twitches, coming to life again slowly, as though he has the strength to do it all again. 

Maybe he does. He’s never cum more than once in one night, but it’s not like he’s ever tried. 

Izaya spreads apart the untied pieces of his shirt, exposing his sweaty skin to the cold air of the room. He shivers, far too lightheaded to feel anything but the dull thrums of pleasure as his nipples harden and Izaya’s hands sweep over his belly in slow circles. 

Izaya leans forward, planting a kiss just above his navel. He trails from there, stopping at random intervals to poke out his tongue, to suck and sometimes nip in different spots. It takes Shizuo longer than it probably should to realize that he’s paying extra attention to the scars. 

He isn’t sure how he feels about it at first. His head is swimming, but his chest twinges and his cheeks feel even hotter somehow. He tries not to pay attention to the marks. He grew tired of counting them long before his skin became strong enough that nothing new appeared. They’re barely there at all, if he doesn’t look too close. A reminder, he thinks, of his inhumanity, and Izaya is treating them as though they’re something worthy of being adored.

It hurts a little. Or it feels too vulnerable. As though maybe Izaya should be doing this when they’re alone and not in front of a crowd. But that might be the point. He’s marking his territory, he’s showing Shizuo that he loves every part of him. He’s being…  _ tender _ . 

Shizuo thinks of the ballerina again, wondering if he would have still considered it beautiful if it had been broken and glued back together. He would have, he thinks, but he doesn’t want to admit it. He doesn’t want to consider that he might have traced the cracks with his fingers, and thought to himself, that even tattered, it was still something worth cherishing.

Chikage snaps his hips forward with more fervor, hitting his prostate straight-on. It’s enough to shake him from his thoughts, and as Izaya turns to send Chikage a look for pushing him off-balance, Kadota creeps even closer.

He’s standing next to Shizuo’s head, right in the place where he’d stood earlier. He’s fiddling with the edge of his jacket, erection poking out into the air, somehow also appearing to be a little unsure. Shizuo doesn’t waste any time thinking about it. He opens his mouth, an obvious invitation. He can feel the mess drying on his face, itchy and unpleasant. He wonders how Kadota has even managed to get hard again while looking at him like this.

Kadota’s fingers comb through his hair, catching in the knots despite how careful he’s being. Shizuo barely feels it, annoyance bubbling in his chest as he tries to scoot closer, if only so Kadota will get a fucking move on it and stop sitting there like he hasn’t already done this once. 

Just as Kadota finally eases forward, Izaya pulls away. Shizuo doesn’t want to think about the disappointment that weighs heavily in his chest. He doesn’t want to consider how nervous he feels suddenly, in the absence of those reassuring touches. 

He can hear Izaya padding away, but Chikage has found a steady pace. His thrusts are rhythmic and gentle, grazing against his prostate in just the right way every time. The sensation draws him away from his nervousness, from his curiosity as to where Izaya has gone. He’s forgotten all about Tom-san and Mikage looming somewhere out of sight.

For a while, he allows Kadota to push into his mouth and pull out. He allows Chikage to fuck him in varying speeds, and he doesn’t complain when both of them pause to regain their bearings, because maybe Izaya has told them not to cum too soon. Maybe neither of them are willing to risk getting yelled at like Kadota did earlier.

He barely comprehends the shadow coming to rest by the other side of the bed, across from Kadota. He’s fallen into a peaceful routine, bracing himself each time that Chikage shoves inside, hollowing his cheeks each time that Kadota begins to pull out. His tongue moves lazily against the head as it passes, and by the shudders wracking through Kadota, it seems that he’s not doing such a bad job at all. 

He isn’t sure why he isn’t more frightened when everything goes black. He can tell that he isn’t unconscious, because he can still feel everyone moving around him. He can hear their breathing and Kadota’s quiet, forced hisses. He can hear the squelches of lube and the slap of skin against skin, the sound of his mouth slobbering around Kadota’s cock. It’s all a little gross, but he tries not to think about it too much. He wonders if these noises are why most people claim to watch porn on mute.

After some time passes, he realizes that there’s a blindfold wrapped around his face. It’s so soft that it’s barely there at all, so loose that he knows that he’d be able to wrestle his way out of it with minimal effort. 

Izaya’s voice washes over him. He feels his muscles relax instinctively at the sound of it.

“Shizu-chan, do you want to play a game?” He asks, a sneakiness creeping into his words despite how soft he’s forcing his tone to be, “If you can guess who’s playing with you, I’ll be the next one inside of you, okay?”

He doesn’t reply, but his cock stands at attention at the thought alone. Izaya doesn’t dominate him often. He’s a lazy lover. He prefers to be pampered in the bedroom, but sometimes he gives in, and sometimes…

A shiver runs through him. 

Sometimes Izaya proves to him just how evenly matched they really are.

He doesn’t know what Izaya means by “playing”, but the buzzing that erupts from somewhere near the bottom of the bed gives him a decent idea. He thinks of the arsenal of toys that Namie brought last time. She’d promised that they were unused, even showed him recent receipts, and he has no idea what she did with them after she left.

At the time, he didn’t think that he wanted to, but now, he isn’t so sure. She might have sold them back to Izaya at three times the original price. They might be floating around on some disgusting fetish site, just waiting for the right pervert to purchase them.

His train of thought is cut short by a strange sensation against his lower belly. The vibrations rattle through him, tingling against his skin as his erection struggles to get a grasp on how it wants to react. He isn’t ticklish by any means, but the feeling of something shaking against his skin is borderline uncomfortable, albeit—

Maybe a little more erotic than he would have originally assumed.

Whoever is holding the toy isn’t in any hurry. They soothe slow circles around his navel, rotating the vibrator around, as though to give him an idea of the texture and girth. It’s thicker than the one that they used on Izaya. Maybe even longer than the dildo that Namie attached to the belt of the strap-on.

Chikage pumps inside of him with more fervor, breathing ragged as his orgasm draws nearer. Kadota’s ministrations are lazy and absentminded, as though he’s more focused on what is happening to Shizuo than what’s happening to himself. Shizuo doesn’t know what the Hell is going on with him tonight, or what came over him the night that they ganged up on Izaya, and he isn’t sure how long it will be before he’s able to look him in the eye when they pass on the streets.

He might spend the next few months ducking into random alleyways any time that the group passes, haunted by images of that suspiciously romantic shadow that had settled over Kadota’s face, and the quickness with which he finished after only being touched a few times.

Kadota must not be getting enough action, he tells himself. It has nothing to do with Izaya, and nothing to do with him. Whatever the Hell is going on will end tonight, and none of them will ever speak of it again. 

The vibrator creeps nearer to his erection, stopping to linger in the small trail of hair beneath his navel. Whoever is maneuvering it stops to ghost their fingers along that path, as though appreciating the way that it leads them straight down to the swollen, aching thing just begging for attention between his thighs. 

Chikage doesn’t pull out when he cums. He rattles off a huff of Shizuo’s surname, even adding a respectful “-san” at the end, and it only makes Shizuo feel like a dirty old man. Suddenly, he wishes that Izaya would touch him again, if only to make him feel less like a side-show attraction. 

On a good day, he’ll receive maybe two or three gentle touches, most of which are exclusively from Izaya,  among a myriad of violent assaults. His senses are in overdrive with the shadows of heat from all of these hands, and the absence of pain in their wake.

With each set of fingers pressing into his exposed flesh, he expects to feel the sharpness of a blade, or the blunt force of a metal pipe. When those fingers pull away, his muscles contract, his heart-rate spikes, his back arches expectantly, and—

He’s met with pleasure. His brain is skittering to keep up with the sensations, but his body is lightyears behind. He isn’t sure how long it will take for that muscle memory to finally fade away.

As though he can tell exactly what Shizuo is thinking, Izaya’s hand comes to tangle in his hair. He brushes sweaty bangs from Shizuo’s face, holding him still as Kadota seems to remember where he is and what he’s supposed to be doing, and finally begins to thrust into Shizuo’s mouth with more enthusiasm.

When the vibrations finally reach his cock, Shizuo can’t help but jerk forward. This forces Kadota deeper into his throat—a surprised yelp of a moan jumping from his lips—as Izaya’s fingers accidentally pull just a little too hard at his hair.

“Oh, Shizu-chan likes the toys, I see,” Izaya hums, and Shizuo’s entire body seems to ignite at the words, “Who would have thought that you were so kinky? And you don’t even know who’s controlling it…”

The way that his sentence trails off might leave a sour taste in Shizuo’s mouth if he were coherent enough to contemplate it. As it is, every nerve in his body is buzzing with pleasure, every possible thought melting together as the vibrator works its way from root to tip. It settles on a spot just below the head, and maybe Izaya told them that he likes to be touched there, or maybe it was just a lucky guess. He doesn’t know, and he definitely doesn’t have the capacity to figure it out.

Kadota pulls out of his mouth just in time for him to bite off a moan. The relieved intake of breath is lost on him. He throws his head back, falling limply against the mattress as his legs tug against their bindings. What’s left of his outfit clings to his sweaty skin, riding up in the most uncomfortable of ways, but he barely even notices the feeling of it.

“Dotachin is touching himself watching you, Shizu-chan,” Izaya coos, and Kadota makes a strangled noise above him, “He’s too nervous to  _ fuck _ you, but I can tell that he wants to.”

Izaya only curses when he’s trying to be sexy, and Shizuo hates the way that it works. Gross words shouldn’t turn him on, but with the proper way that Izaya always ties together his sentences, something about how filthy the words leaving his mouth are is intoxicating. He can barely handle it. 

The vibrator backs off, seeming to sense how overwhelmed he’s become. Izaya might have motioned to them, but he’s far too out of it to care. 

Instead, the toy makes a gradual journey along his thighs, avoided the spots where the rope digs into his skin. His chest rises and falls erratically. The sound of skin slapping quietly catches his attention. Kadota breathes out a groan that sounds entirely too much like his name.

Cum splatters across his face, staining the blindfold. Kadota’s choked apology is nearly enough to bring him back to reality. He wants to ask why anyone would apologize for that during a time like this, especially after cumming in his mouth earlier, but only a sputter of incoherent noises leave him. Izaya stifles a laugh.

“Being nice won’t earn you brownie points, Dotachin,” he says, a certain edge to his words that Shizuo can’t help but pick up on, “He’s not coming home with you after this is all said and done.”

It’s a weird thing to say, given the situation, but Shizuo can’t bring himself to focus on it for too long. He can feel Kadota’s body heat fading as he backs away. He doesn’t reply to Izaya’s jab, and he doesn’t move forward to try to clean Shizuo off. He slips silently outside of Shizuo’s reach, but he’s forgotten only a moment later. 

The vibrator makes its way back to his erection, stopping at the base and sitting there, unmoving. It’s enough to send a shiver up his spine, dull pleasure coursing along the shaft, but nothing close to what he’d felt earlier. Just when he’s ready to demand that they move it along, it’s pulled away and shut off.

The whine that escapes him is more humiliating than anything that he’s experienced yet tonight. 

After what feels like an eternity, the toy is replaced with something much warmer and wetter. He gasps, feeling as though there might not be enough air in the room to fill his lungs. His fingers and toes curl. Izaya makes a concerned sort of hum, reminding him not to break the ropes.

Whoever it is—he doesn’t want to consider it until he has to—swallows him until he reaches the back of their throat. They make a low noise, the feeling of it humming against him and only adding to the overload of sensations that are pulsating through him.

It takes everything that he has not to buck up, but he doesn’t want to hurt them. If he were more aware, he might hate himself for not being able to do these normal, human things. He might wonder what it would feel like to be a regular person—to be Izaya in this position so many days ago—and to allow himself to escape the clutches of control without fear of damaging another person. 

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, voice nothing more than a mere whisper, “Can you tell me whose mouth you’re in right now?”

If his hands were free, he would be swatting Izaya away. He won’t say it, and he won’t think about it. He’ll sit here and enjoy this pleasure until Izaya finally gets that idea through his thick skull and stops trying to force him to accept the fact that—t-the fact that—

_ “T-Tom-san—” _

He can’t stop the name from slipping through his teeth, no matter how hard he grits them. His cheeks sting with heat as his heart thumps a frenzy within his rib cage. The person between his legs lets out a soft moan, reverberating the sound around his cock as they continue to bob their head upward and down.

With a click of his tongue, Izaya pulls away. Shizuo can hear the soft patter of his footsteps as he makes his way to the bottom of the bed.

“Shizu-chan sure seems familiar with his boss’s mouth, doesn’t he?” He questions. 

Shizuo doesn’t know what he means by that, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Tom-san stills after a few more pumps, pulling away and muttering something so quietly that Shizuo can’t hear it. 

“Of course he’ll do it,” Izaya replies, and though Shizuo has no idea what he’s replying  _ to _ , he can’t quell the feeling of dread that settles in the depths of his chest, “Do you really think that he’s in the right frame of mind to refuse to do anything?”

Tom-san grumbles unhappily, and Shizuo feels like kicking Izaya for such poor wording. He’s making it sound as though Shizuo is incapable of saying no, as though the two of them haven’t been planning this for weeks.

As though there isn’t a certain forbidden excitement rippling inside of him at the thought of Tom-san touching him. 

“Shizuo,” Tom-san speaks, and Shizuo can’t help but flinch at the sound of his own name, “Do you remember the safe word?”

He nods, but the silence that stretches out afterward makes it obvious that Tom-san is waiting for an answer. Izaya rests a palm against his knee, fingers cold on his overheated skin.

“A-ah,” his voice sounds like more of a groan as he attempts to get a handle on the words that he wants to say. Each of his thoughts are floating just out of reach, quivering away before his tongue can catch them, “p… parfait.”

Despite his temporary blindness, Shizuo can clearly picture the snotty look on Izaya’s face, by the way that Tom-san lets out a long sigh and takes a few steps toward the other side of the bed. He’s standing where Izaya stood only moments ago, and despite his mortification at his own actions, Shizuo cranes his head and opens his mouth in invitation.

“See?” Izaya says, a cocky edge to his voice as he digs his fingers into Shizuo’s thighs, pushing them even further apart, “He wants to do it. Shizu-chan really enjoys it, don’t you?”

Izaya’s words are punctuated by fingers sliding inside of him—two of them at once—and Shizuo can’t stop himself from letting out a disgustingly guttural moan. A hand that he still can’t quite admit to himself is Tom-san’s combs itself through his sweaty, sticky bangs, pushing them back to expose his face. 

The blindfold feels heavy and stiff against his eyes, but no one makes a move to remove it. He doesn’t know if he would be quite as accepting of the erection bumping against his lips if he could see it anyway. As it is, he allows Tom-san to slide it into his mouth, shaking a little harder than he cares to admit as Izaya’s fingers move around inside of him.

“It’s a little messy down here,” Izaya breathes, spreading Shizuo’s cheeks with his other hand, “Does Shizu-chan like being used by so many people?”

The cock inside of his mouth stills. Tom-san stiffens.

“Don’t say  _ ‘used’ _ like that,” he says, “It makes it sound like he has no control here.”

Izaya’s resounding laughter cracks through the quiet. Shizuo picks up the murmuring of the group—so much closer than he’d realized. Even through the haze of need, embarrassment washes over him. Maybe Izaya wasn’t wrong when he made it sound as though Shizuo has no control here. Maybe this wasn’t such a brilliant idea after all.

He doesn’t know how he looks right now, but he’s sure that it is anything but respectable.

_ “For a man who struggles too much to prove that he’s human,”  _ he can imagine them saying later, spreading word of Heiwajima Shizuo’s eagerness to open his legs for anyone who would be willing to touch him,  _ “he sure likes to be fucked like an animal.” _

His insecurities skitter to a stop as Izaya reaches forward and palms his erection. Everything but the sensation of that chilly hand sliding against the drying mess on his dick fizzles out to a dull whisper.

“So many knights in shining armor are stepping up to defend your honor tonight, Shizu-chan,” Izaya purrs, wrapping his fingers around Shizuo’s cock and marking each word with a flick of his wrist, “It seems that everyone has forgotten just how capable you are of breaking out of those ropes and defending yourself if you need to.”

There’s definitely bitterness there. Shizuo is sure of it. The situation has tilted sideways, everything has taken an odd turn. Tom-san is stroking gently at his hair, trailing his fingers over to messy, hot cheeks and turning his face upward. His erection slips free from Shizuo’s lips, resting against his cheek. 

He marks the seconds with each heartbeat, each breath dragging through him. 

One, and then two. Two and then three. The silence engulfs him as Izaya continues to play with him, but no one else moves forward.

Izaya might be jealous, he thinks, but his train of thought ends there. The idea of Izaya feeling so possessive is enough to push him to open his thighs further—tearing the ropes to shreds as he wraps his legs around Izaya and urges him forward.

The sound of his bindings ripping seems to pull everyone from their respective stupors. Tom-san can’t even react before Shizuo is fumbling awkwardly in an attempt to swallow him up again.

Blindly, he finds the head, easing it between his lips. The hand in his hair strays downward, guiding him silently. 

Tom-san hisses out a curse as he slides it to the back of his throat, sucking as softly as he can before pulling himself back. He drags his tongue along the shaft, paying special attention to the head once it reaches his lips again.

Izaya doesn’t make another snippy comment, but he adds another finger inside of Shizuo, scissoring and pumping, tugging erratically at his cock. Shizuo becomes lost in the multiple sensations, pushing himself to concentrate on Tom-san’s erection if only so he doesn’t completely let go too soon.

“Shit, S-Shizuo,” Tom-san murmurs, and Izaya stiffens between his legs, “You’re… good at this.”

The compliment burns even more heat against his cheeks. He feels as though he might faint. Thoughts swimming, head light, he continues to suck, to bob his head. He wishes that he could free his hands, but the thought of the ropes around his thighs—shredded and useless after all of Izaya’s hard work—stops him. 

Izaya presses himself inside, taking his time. He leans forward to plant a soft kiss against Shizuo’s navel, and Shizuo can feel those dark eyes burning holes through the blindfold.

It doesn’t hurt at all, but the feeling of something far longer and far girthier than fingers stretching him out is numbing. Too much pleasure, he thinks. Every nerve in his body feels overused and raw.

Another weight is added to the bed, and someone is bending forward to plant kisses against his throat. Grazing his sweaty skin with hungry teeth, hinting their fingers over his collarbone and down his chest. They stop only to trace small lines over the ropes. He wonders how aggravated and reddened his skin looks underneath. They might be wondering the same thing. 

They’re tweaking one of his nipples as Izaya begins to thrust, as Tom-san takes over and holds him still, moving attentively in and out. Another weight settles next to Tom-san. Another set of hands begins to rove over his body. His breath hitches in his throat. Everything blurs with pleasure, with nervousness, with vague discomfort. His chest aches with an emotion that he’s never felt before.

Someone is sucking at his other nipple, but he can’t find it in himself to care who it might be. They’ve all touched him at this point, marked him like no one but Izaya has ever marked him before. Whoever is biting him, whoever is rubbing him, kissing him, fucking him. It’s all melded together into the same unstoppable force, pushing him further and further toward the brink of another orgasm. 

Izaya hits his prostate with practiced ease. There are multiple hands on his erection—pumping, rubbing, stroking. His eyes widen behind the blindfold. He grits his teeth, arching his back, pretending that the ripping sound beneath him is anything but his arms tearing apart the ropes.

Someone cries out, but the voice is unrecognizable.

And everything fades—fuzzy white noise. Everything blurs into a comfortable blackness as the ripples of his orgasm mute the commotion around him. There’s a warmth building up inside of him, there’s a wetness splattering across his cheeks.

But he barely feels it at all.

He fades into the vibrations of the afterglow. He wishes that someone would hand him a cigarette.

Before he knows it, someone is pulling off his blindfold, and his blurry eyes find Izaya’s face in the dark. 

“You passed out for a while, Shizu-chan,” he whispers, despite the fact that, clearly, everyone has already left the room, “Was it really that good?”

The words won’t leave him, so he leans upward and captures Izaya’s lips. He tries to squash the jealousy that he found there earlier, the insecurity, the aggression.

Izaya kisses him back, drags cold fingers up to tangle in his hair. He can feel clean clothes clinging to the sore marks left on his arms and legs from the ropes. His skin is still a little damp from the shower. He doesn’t remember getting up. He wonders if Izaya had a hard time carrying him.

“I love you,” he croaks. Izaya laughs—soft, heavy, beautiful. 

He slides beneath the blankets and wraps his arms around Shizuo’s waist. He snuggles his face into the crook between Shizuo’s neck and shoulder. With a long breath, he closes his eyes. Shizuo counts the gradual beats of their hearts mingling together. His own pulse feels so much louder than Izaya’s, but Izaya’s is still there. He’s still breathing, still laughing, still  _ here _ despite everything. 

“Of course you do,” he sighs, “And of course I love you too.”

The night fades into the morning. Tom-san calls to tell him that he can take the next couple of days off. Izaya makes breakfast, won’t let him lift a finger. They watch movies, they kiss. Izaya jokes about Shizuo’s many “suitors”. 

And the day passes into the night.

Shizuo isn’t sure how he’ll face everyone when he sees them again. Will Chikage send him that knowing grin? Will Kadota avoid even looking at him? And what of Tom-san? Will everything go back to normal?

He isn’t sure. Izaya tells him that everything will be okay. 

He thinks the figurine, broken and glued together again. He can’t deny that he would still find it beautiful. 

And maybe life is the same, he guesses. Izaya is so much better at this philosophical bullshit than he is, but maybe they’ll rebuild their relationships stronger. Maybe what remains will be even better than before.

“It’s just sex,” Izaya tells him, “And it’s not like they didn’t take part in it too.”

And he’s right, of course. He’s always right.

Maybe it’s for the best if they all pretend that none of this ever happened.

It’s a Hell of a lot less awkward that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, okay... this ended up being so much longer than I anticipated. This entire story is almost 20k of pure smut, and I just... please do not judge me. I know. Don't worry. I understand just how depraved I must be to have written this. Oh God.
> 
> Anyway, there are a few different people who made this chapter possible! Of course, first I'd like to thank tumblr user frankenfishen for allowing me to fill the second chapter of her fic with so many of my own kinks. Congrats again, George! I hope that you enjoy this gigantic wall of smut as a sort of "happy college graduation" present.
> 
> Also, I would like to thank my wonderful beta, ichimatsusama, for staying up all night to help me fix the countless typos and weird sentences within this story. I know that I'm a handful. I'm an awful writer to beta for. They truly are a saint.
> 
> And then there's tumblr user dragonolong, who has sort of... pushed me to put my all into this fic. It's such a weird story to feel so determined about, but hey, I appreciate the enthusiasm nonetheless! So thank you for rooting for me! 
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much to everyone who read the first chapter, and everyone who took the hour or so out of their day to read this chapter as well! This was a big project, but strangely rewarding! I feel like... I might have reached my smut quota for the rest of the year.


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